


lovelorn liars

by serayume



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Fluff, Hanahaki AU, M/M, No Bashing, Rating May Change, graphic descriptions of coughing on later chapters, im tagging those without proper thinking, reasonable orion black, side wolfstar, some blood, this is very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serayume/pseuds/serayume
Summary: lay down and rest, you’ve loved enough.— jegulus hanahaki au. to those who dream of change.





	1. deep hook marks in rubber lips

**Author's Note:**

> this is a hanahaki au, an au wherein there’s a fictional disease called hanahaki in which the victim coughs up flowers when they suffer from unrequited love. take note: unrequited, meaning one-sided. it only ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. it can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim’s romantic feelings for their love also disappear, or they forget all about the person they are in love with. it varies. to be fully cured, the victim must also believe that their feelings are returned. if they don’t, they die. and even though their feelings are requited, if the victim does not believe they are loved back, the disease will remain uncured.
> 
> hello! i hope u guys enjoy this! <3

Walburga Black died when Regulus was only seven. His brother, Sirius, was eight. The younger Black sibling does not remember much of their mother — she was strict, yes, very much so, to the point that Regulus and Sirius were never given the luxury of being normal, functioning children.

She forbid her sons to communicate with the lower class, the filth, which often left her lips as _mudbloods_. She was cruel, but she wasn’t heartless. Not as everyone perceived her to be.

Walburga may not love her sons, but she cared for them.

When Regulus asked his father why their mother died, Orion only gave him a passing, melancholic look that spoke about a thousand words to nothing. Although Regulus didn’t need to ask anymore. He had overheard, from a gossiping group of women as they passed by that Walburga Black died because of Hanahaki Disease. Some said Walburga was a fool, some thought her story was heartbreaking, and some didn’t really care at all.

Regulus was a smart child; he knew what that meant.

Their mother, Walburga Black, died because Orion Black did not love her enough. (Or maybe not at all.)

* * *

 

"Reggie, what are you doing?"

Regulus blinked at the direction of his older brother, putting down his brush with a sigh, "Painting, Siri."

Sirius scrunched up his nose, "Flowers?"

"What’s wrong with flowers?"

"They’re.. I don’t know. Weird. Why are you painting flowers?"

Regulus looked at the half-finished piece in front of him, eyes glazed on the warm sunset hue of the daffodils, "They’re pretty."

Sirius looked at his brother like he couldn’t understand what he was saying, and a moment later, the Black heir seemed to have come to a certain realization, staring at the almost dried colour of the blood smeared on the canvas, his mouth turning downwards in the slightest frown.

"If you say so."

The painting is finished by the end of the month, the crimson red replaced by green.

* * *

 

It was the first time Regulus stepped into Muggle London.

Orion, his father, had taken him and Sirius out to visit their uncle, Alphard Black, who requested to meet them. It startled Regulus at first to know that one of his relatives lived in Muggle London, and it turns out that their uncle was almost blasted off the Black Tapestry, but was not. To why, they didn’t know.

Muggles were odd, Regulus concluded. They have a completely bland way of living, and they tend to perform in the streets where their hats were taken off filled with things that were similar to knuts.

A muggle approached them and gave a lopsided but kind grin. He was holding out a blue rose, "Happy Hearts Day, kid."

Orion pulled him away from the muggle before Regulus even had a chance to reply.

* * *

 

Regulus observed that Sirius liked singing.

He’s in his studio that night, working on a piece consisting of a simple blue rose. It’s nothing special; just something to pass the time. But somehow Sirius was there, on a stool, humming faintly to a tune Regulus has never heard before. It sounds muggle, Regulus thinks, recalling a song he heard from the street performers when he and Orion passed by Muggle London.

"What’s that song?"

Sirius perks up at the question, cocking his head, "Er, nothing. I just made the tune up."

Regulus blinked.

"It sounds muggle," he blurts out, "maybe you should try listening to their music, you may like them." Regulus doesn’t think much of this when he said it, he doesn’t even know why he did.

"Is that okay?" asked Sirius.

"What is?"

"Knowing... muggle stuff."

Regulus remembers the rose that the muggle attempted to give him.

"Yeah, it’s okay, I think."

Sirius beams.

He starts to come at Regulus’ studio regularly and sing muggle songs.

It becomes a routine for the both of them.

* * *

 

Regulus was ten when Sirius got his Hogwarts letter.

He remembers the excited face of his brother when he received it. Sirius’ whole face lighted up like it always did when he was singing, and Regulus didn’t know what was so exciting about the school, but he was happy for Sirius. He had always wanted to attend Hogwarts ever since he found Regulus reading about it, deeply enamoured by the promise of magic.

"I’m finally going to Hogwarts, Reg! Can you believe it, really?"

Orion placed his teacup down, "We can, in fact, believe it, Sirius. Now hurry along and stop bouncing, we need to shop for your things."

Sirius grumbled in response and sent a pleading look at Regulus. Orion noticed their exchange and sighed, "Fine. Regulus can come."

Sirius visibly lightened up and started hopping upstairs dragging Regulus behind him to get dressed.

"Sirius, I said _stop_ bouncing like an idiot." Orion calls after them.

"I’m not bouncing!" Sirius yells back.

Orion just sighs and fixes his robe.

The Blacks arrive at Diagon Alley shortly, and it takes them very little time to shop for the designated items on Sirius’ list. They went for the cauldrons last, and Regulus noticed that inside the shop, it smelled like fresh, minted herbs, like an actual apothecary. He admired the fleeting solitude until he heard Sirius shout from the other side of the room.

Rushing to his brother, Regulus finds him apologizing to a boy who looked as young as Sirius, with untamed dark hair and circle rimmed glasses.

"Sirius, what did you do now?"

"I just knocked off some stuff and it kind of fell on this guy, it’s not my fault, Reg!" Sirius turned to the bespectacled boy, "Really sorry though, mate. Wasn’t intentional, swear."

The boy accepted Sirius’ apology rather quick, and they both just laughed it off.

"It’s nothing. I’m James, by the way. James Potter."

"Sirius Black. This is my cute little brother, Regulus."

Regulus ignored Sirius’ comment and nodded towards the Potter boy. If the Black siblings were ever good at anything, it was masking their emotions. If they were surprised that James did not show any reaction to their last name other than a hint of recognition despite being a pureblood, they did not show it.

James just cracked a grin at Sirius’ introduction, "Yeah, he’s kinda cute and all little. You’re both going to Hogwarts next year too?"

"Ah no, it’s just me. Reg’s going next year!"

"You’re gonna be my yearmate, then! Which house d’you think you’ll be in?"

Sirius shifted uncomfortably, but smiled nonetheless, "I don’t know, really. My whole family’s been in Slytherin, but I think I like Gryffindor more."

"Cool, I’m hoping for Gryffindor too! They say it’s the best house, you know. They say Slytherin’s bad."

Regulus reacted to that, "It isn’t. Don’t generalize."

James blinked at Regulus direction and swallowed, "Uh, okay, I guess."

"Yeah, I advice not badmouthing Slytherin so much in front of Reg. He explained it to me, you know, I think it’s not that bad now, but it’s not really for me," Sirius shrugged, "Maybe it’s all the red."

"Oh, I see. Sorry, yeah?" James apologized sheepishly, and Regulus waved him off, saying it was nothing, "Why ‘all the red’?"

Sirius looked at Regulus, "Because of daffodils. I think they’re pretty in red."

Regulus only smiled. He didn’t want to say that the daffodils were green now.

* * *

 

Sirius left later that year, and Regulus was now alone.

He sent a few letters. One for when he was sorted, and Regulus was happy when his brother had gotten into Gryffindor along with Potter, despite all the odds. Although he’s not sure how to feel because he and his brother will be in rival houses, he ignored the clawing doubt and proceeded to write a letter back to congratulate Sirius.

As predicted, Orion wasn’t rejoicing in the wake of his son’s sorting. Neither was the whole House of Black. Regulus read from Sirius’ letter that Bellatrix had gone ballistic and had thrown a hissy fit while their other cousins showed their blatant disapproval.

Regulus told Sirius in his letter not to mind them, and that he wishes holidays would come soon, so he could come home.

The silence in the studio seemed more suffocating whenever it wasn’t cloaked around Sirius’ voice. Ever since that day in the Alley, Regulus often painted portraits of a boy with a mop of striking dark hair. Regulus has an idea of why he kept using his memory of the Potter boy as a muse. He had a rougish charm, an aesthetic appeal that Regulus doesn’t encounter much, and he made a good reference for when he was out of inspiration.

But somehow, the portraits always remained faceless. Regulus found that he couldn’t possibly copy Potter’s smile.

* * *

 

When Sirius came home for the holidays, Regulus honestly expected a fight to ensue between his father and his brother.

The day before Yule was a tense, tiring day, and Orion was silent for almost the whole twenty four hours, until he finally tapped Sirius lightly on the shoulder and said, "Congratulations."

Sirius cried for the first time held by his father.

Yule night came and it was probably the best one they ever had as a family, Regulus thinks, as they open up their presents. Their family members sent some gifts, and they were the standard, pureblood gifts meant more for politics than actual courtesy to give that the brothers sorted them away until all that was left was a handful of gifts from Sirius’ friends and the brothers’ gifts to each other.

The younger Black sibling was surprised, to say the least, that he got a present from one of Sirius’ friends, namely Potter. It was nothing fancy. Just an edelweiss charmed to not wilt, which was probably store-bought since he knew Potter was way too young to properly charm the flower.

Regulus placed the edelweiss in his studio, thinking it was as beautiful as everything there.

* * *

 

The time finally came for Regulus to attend Hogwarts.

He and Orion shopped for his things early even when his letter wasn’t even delivered, and the only thing Regulus was happy about was with his owl, Edel, because the edelweiss’ petals were the first thing that came to his mind when he looked at the owl’s feathers.

When Regulus’ letter came, he clutched it tightly, thinking it was both a curse and a blessing to finally be with Sirius again just to separate once more when he enters Slytherin.

He has no doubts about his sorting, never had and never will.

* * *

 

Regulus ended up in the same compartment with his brother’s friends.

He learned that Sirius had a half-blood friend named Remus Lupin, a somewhat scrawny boy that had scars littered across his skin. He looked like a character out of a fantasy book not because of any magnificent things; Regulus vowed to paint him sometime soon. Remus’ slightly nervous but vague smile was probably way easier to replicate than James Potter’s, anyway.

There was also Peter Pettigrew in his ragtag group of friends, and Regulus didn’t like him as much as he liked Remus. He decided he’ll give the older boy some more time to warm up to him.

Then came James Potter. It wasn’t much of a shock, really, that he was already so close with Sirius. They were alike in many ways, after all.

"I’m sure you’re gunning for Slytherin, right, Reg?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"Slytherin? With those slimy gits?" Peter added, and Regulus narrowed his eyes and was about to answer but Sirius already beat him to it.

"Peter, don’t talk like that in front of my brother, yeah?"

Peter visibly swallowed, "Y.. Yeah. Okay, okay. Sorry."

Regulus didn’t pay any attention to Peter and instead looked out the window.

"Sirius, I can’t believe your brother is decent." Regulus heard Lupin, the half-blood, say. James snorted and Peter cracked a small smile while Regulus raised a brow.

Sirius looked positively affronted, "That’s _rude_! I’m decent too!"

"You’re not fooling anybody in this compartment with that, Sirius."

"Yeah, what a load of dung."

"I can’t believe I’m friends with you lot."

Regulus smiled and allowed himself a small chuckle. Same house or not, Sirius was in good hands.

* * *

 

Regulus blocked out the noise of the Great Hall’s claps and silently walked towards the Slytherin table. He sat beside a boy with black hair that fell on his shoulders and a long nose, whose name was Severus Snape. He learns that he and his brother’s group were not the best of friends, but that was to be expected when you go to rival houses. Though their relationship wasn’t as strained as Regulus thought it would be. They were just the typical Gryffindor and Slytherin to one another.

Later on he found out that Snape was a sort of outcast due to his blood status and friendship with a Gryffindor muggle girl called Lily Evans.

Snape and Regulus were friendly acquaintances, even though they were in different years. Regulus found that he only had one likeable dormmate that goes by the name of Genesis Zabini, who wasn’t nearly as stuck-up as everyone else.

The first few weeks of Hogwarts were.. enlightening. Regulus learned that his brother’s group was rising and riding the tide of the castle, becoming resident troublemakers and making McGonagall’s head hurt. They’re an entertaining lot, Regulus admits to himself, and even Genesis thinks they’re annoying but tolerable.

His cousins in Slytherin try to speak to him, and he gives them brief nods and small smiles. Regulus doesn’t give them much encouragement to continue to talk, especially their cousin Bella. Narcissa, or Cissy, was one of the few cousins Regulus and Sirius could tolerate, but even they know not to get involved with her when her engagement to Lucius Malfoy was already passed along as common news. They weren’t looking forward for the wedding.

In his free time, Regulus tries to sketch James Potter’s face.

He still can’t do it.

* * *

 

Regulus celebrates the end of his first year in Hogwarts inside his studio.

Sirius is there, questioning him about the faceeless boy that often appeared in his paintings. Of why he had nothing else but tresses as dark as the night sky.

"He looks like someone I know," Sirius had said, "And it’s wrong, since he doesn’t even have a face."

Regulus hums, "Maybe you do know him."

"Really?" asked Sirius, "I think I’d realize who he was though, if I really do."

_And maybe you will_ , Regulus thinks, _but only when he’s not faceless anymore._

* * *

 

Regulus becomes a second year student so fast he couldn’t fathom how.

Maybe it’s because there was nothing to be excited about anymore in Hogwarts that he didn’t notice the ordinary days going by were actually long, grueling months. He and Sirius still talk, to Regulus’ relief. They’re not the same as before, they will never be, but they will always be brothers with the same blood. He knows that. They both know that.

The Slytherin common room was a nice place, but for some reason Regulus always found himself seated by the Black Lake. He studies there, does homework there, paints there, and all the other things. Sometimes he even takes his naps by the lake.

This time he paints a woman with daffodils on her mouth and a vacant stare. There’s no blood on the woman’s face, though Regulus knows there should be. There should be splatters of the red liqiud scattered across her cheek and past her jaw all the way down to her neck and collarbone. There should be small pools of blood on the woman’s lips. But there wasn’t anything. The woman only looked so hollow — so void.

He thinks of Hanahaki while painting. He thinks of the tragedy of having to rely on only one person to both save you and kill you. He thinks of not wanting it. But that’s all he does; think. Although it was common knowledge that Hanahaki was often hereditary, it was also rare to pass on, and that’s what makes Regulus have an inkling of hope that he will not fall in love for someone so hard that he’d die for them. Because he had so much to do, so much to accomplish.

Regulus paints the daffodils red and green. They’re smudged and messy, but nonetheless still beautiful.

Footsteps rattle Regulus’ thinking and James Potter was suddenly seated beside him, looking at the piece Regulus had painted.

"It’s beautiful," he praised Regulus, "Sirius was right. Daffodils _are_ pretty in red. But I think they look brilliant in green."

Regulus stares at the boy he had failed for so long to paint, stares at his face without the ever-present smile, and realizes that maybe it wasn’t his smile that he needed. Maybe it was only his serene face, the way he looked right now.

"Thanks, Potter."

"Call me James," he smiles (and Regulus _hates_ it).

"Okay, then," Regulus conceded, "Just drop your smile."

James blinked and blurted out an agreement with a laugh, his smile leaving his face as quickly as it came.

Regulus burned the image of the James Potter in front of him, the faceless boy in all of his paintings.

* * *

 

Regulus comes home for holidays and locked up in his studio.

Sirius is there with him again, singing softly, and Regulus swims in the sound as he felt his brush sing.

Regulus doesn’t finish the portrait in one sitting, instead he leaves the paint to dry and listens to Sirius’ voice as they linger in the studio.

He had missed the feel of home whenever he was around Sirius, and he missed the way they were before. Things had changed and ties have loosened; but until both hands were there to hold it tighter, it was going to be all right. They just had to believe.

Regulus sleeps that night with vivid dreams of a young boy with moon glasses and jet black hair, a smile missing from his face.


	2. i see your eyes in the flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on harry potter and the philosopher’s stone, it was said that james potter played seeker. however, jk rowling said that he was a chaser. but i am making james potter a seeker in this, for story purposes. thank you!

Third year approached quickly.

Regulus didn’t even realize that the holidays were over, much less the break. It only sinked in when Orion hauled Sirius and him out of his studio Saturday morning to go to Diagon Alley.

Regulus had been tweaking with the nearly finished portrait of Potter that time, with Sirius still delightfully unaware of who it was. Not like Regulus gave him the chance to see the painting clearly anyways. It was better to avoid his older brother’s surely incessant questions.

"You spent all of your time home in that studio already, Regulus, it’s time you get out of it, don’t you think? Why is Sirius even there?"

Sirius sniffed indignantly, "Really, Father! Regulus needs me every time he paints, you know. I’m _essential_!"

"I’m astounded you even know what essential means, Sirius," Orion waved his right hand dismissively. "Go and put on your robes. We’re shopping today for your school items."

Regulus nodded to Orion and dragged a furious Sirius away, huffing and kicking, saying that he knows what essential means, of course, _thank you very much_ , and how _fathers should have faith in their intelligent sons_.

Diagon Alley was busy that Saturday morning. It was bustling with so much activity that Regulus flinched every time he heard someone’s voice raise a pitch higher. Sirius seemed to be enjoying the lively crowd, though, with him jumping and running about— pointing at Quidditch supplies.

Orion bought Sirius the latest model for the broom, while he bought Regulus self-refilling paints, that he was very contented with, as well as Sirius was with his, excitedly buzzing about boasting to James that he got a new broom. Sirius after all was a house player: Gryffindor’s chaser.

"You should get a broom too, Reg," Sirius whispered to him. "And then try out for Seeker. You’ve got Seeker build, actually."

"No thanks, it sounds tiring."

"But isn’t painting tiring too?"

"That’s different," said Regulus. "I enjoy painting. I like it. I don’t like Quidditch."

"But we’ve played Quidditch before!"

"That was because you forced me to. Plus, we were only two people playing back then," Regulus sighed. "I’m sure playing in Hogwarts is different."

"You’re quick, though. You catch the snitch faster than normal people," Sirius insisted with a pleading look on his face. "Come on. You’ll do great!"

"No."

"Yes."

" _No_."

" _Yes_. Reg, please, for your favorite brother?"

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose, "Sirius, you’re my _only_ brother."

"That’s not the point."

The younger Black heir sighed, "I’ll think about it, okay?"

Sirius face lit up, "Knew you’d see it my way eventually, Reg!"

And Sirius then proceeded to pester Orion about getting Regulus a broom.

* * *

 

Regulus did, in fact, try out for the house team.

He also did, in fact, make the cut as Slytherin’s new seeker, replacing the house’s original seeker, who was a seventh year and has now graduated.

Regulus’ first match was against Ravenclaw, where they won 195-110, with Regulus catching the Snitch. Sirius tried to drag him to the kitchens and celebrate Regulus’ first official match and win, but he was already being tugged back to the Slytherin dungeons to have a victory party of some sort, an event which he did not actively participate in, and only smiled and thanked the people who went and congratulated him for, apparently, a good game.

His second match was against his brother, where they lost by a very close margin, 205-195. The first time they crossed each other at the pitch wasn’t anticlimactic. It wasn’t normal, no matter how much Regulus thought it would be. It was definitely the farthest Regulus has pushed himself for any physical activity. He remembered flying freely — his mind blank, only full of _so_ much adrenaline that he felt drunk on the taste of the thrill. He felt his blood pumping as James Potter grinned at him after he caught the Snitch right in front of his eyes. Beaming and blazing, alive and feeling dazed.

He would not go as far as worshipping Quidditch like his brother and Potter does, but he recognizes that the sport is indeed fun, although it wasn’t Regulus’ cup of tea. He would pick painting over playing Quidditch any day, of course — that was a fact that did not need any questioning — but he also enjoys the feeling of being in the air, in the sky; among the clouds.

Flying was stimulating. It was active and continuous. It moves and moves and _moves_ until you feel yourself being carried by the current, by the tide, flown backwards and forwards only being able to feel the shudders on your skin that exhilaratingly whispers  _you’re awake_ and _you’re breathing_ — that _you exist_.

Regulus needed the reassurance. The reminder that he’s here. That he isn’t fading yet.

* * *

 

"Regulus, did you even sleep?" asked Genesis Zabini as he turned to look at Regulus’ bed, where the said boy was currently sketching, already fully clothed, robes and all.

"I did," Regulus replied. "For a few minutes, at least."

Genesis scrunched up his nose in distaste, falling back to his bed to wrap himself around the covers, almost ready to fall asleep again.

Regulus and Genesis developed an uncanny friendship that started off the bat by first year. Being the only yearmate Regulus can fully tolerate, vice versa with Genesis, they started to hang out each other more and decided by themselves that they’ll be allies indefinitely, by the unspoken rule that they found one another a good, satisfying company.

"You’re going to be late, Genesis. So I suggest you don’t laze around your bed. If you will make yourself late, then I’ll head down the Great Hall by myself."

Genesis shot up. "What? What time is it?"

"Almost seven, I think."

With that information in mind, Genesis flopped back down his bed, closing his eyes shut. "Regulus, you do realize that our class isn’t until eight, yeah?"

"I do," Regulus said as he snapped his notebook shut and placed it inside his bedside drawer. "Breakfast starts at seven. Bathe and get dressed, I’ll be at the Great Hall if you ever finish before eight."

Regulus made it out the door, ignoring Genesis’ wails.

* * *

 

The younger Black heir sat beside Severus Snape at breakfast.

Snape was more.. welcomed now than he was about two years ago. It was a shame that Regulus did not have Snape as a fellow third year, because if he was, then they would probably be better casual acquaintances. And though his friendship with the Evans girl was still a taboo topic among other Slytherins, they were forced to recognize Snape’s own talents — though he wasn’t fully given access to Slytherin’s inner circles, he wasn’t the center of scrutiny. A muggle-born second year was. Regulus’ housemates found it _ridiculous_ that a mudblood had entered what they deemed the ‘House of the Pure’, which Regulus found, by the way — the ridiculous thing. He did not believe in blood supremacy as strongly as his other housemates, though he knows that there are other Slytherins who doesn’t as well, but he realizes the difference blood status could make.

Purebloods grew in a community, in a world so capriciously different from the muggle-borns that you will not be able to help the differences that will eventually show. All blood-statuses had clashing upbringing that people felt the need to label themselves by the pure fact that each status had diverse traditions and virtues that they uphold. It is important to classify yourself as pureblood, halfblood, or muggleborn, but it isn’t because of superiority or hierarchy — but the culture.

Regulus had accepted this fact long ago, without a clouded vision and a looming shadow of Walburga grinding him with the cut-and-dried pureblood talk. Regulus does not know if he should take it as a chance to grow that his mother died. He doesn’t know if he should be happy about the fact that he didn’t have a mother for the most of his entire life just because it caused him to differ from his peers.

Regulus had always known, though, that Sirius would grow up to be as he was now. Perhaps more rebellious if Walburga still resided strong and proud, so he did not worry about that. The question was — what would his future have been if Walburga was there to see him through?

Would he have been like what Mulciber was now, seething and sneering at those so-called ‘mudbloods’ that Regulus didn’t even care about? Would he spit at the face of Gryffindors just because they were in a rival house? Would he and Sirius even be... like they were now?

Regulus clenched his fists absently inside his pockets, finding it a bizzare idea that he and Sirius would be _so so_ distant that they wouldn’t talk and knock each other’s shoulders on the hallways (but then, Regulus realizes, that it _could have happened_ that he and his brother could have separated because of different beliefs and views and biases — Sirius hating Regulus because he was a Slytherin, and then Regulus hating Sirius back because he turned on him. Regulus could _see_ it _perfectly_. He could see the aftermath of what _could have been_ had Walburga not decided to throw up flowers and bleed and die.)

Regulus stutters out a shaky breath and headed towards the Slytherin table.

Snape acknowledged Regulus with a nod, which Regulus returned. He sat down quietly and only picked at his small amount of food, as he wasn’t particularly hungry but did not take skipping breakfast as an option since, surely, Sirius would pester him about ‘not eating properly’ again, as he did last year when Regulus started skipping meals in order to retreat at the Black Lake.

"Black, you’re not touching your food again." Snape observed.

"I’m not that hungry," supplied Regulus.

"You always seem not to be. There are dark circles below your eyes, now."

Regulus hated how Snape could pick out details, and he reconsidered their casual acquaintance one more time.

"It’s not something of your concern," replied Regulus in a clipped tone. "You shouldn’t dwell on it too much."

Snape placed his spoon down and looked at Regulus with an contemplative expression. "If you say so."

* * *

 

The day ended with Regulus sitting by the Black Lake.

There he took the notebook he sketched in, as he didn’t feel the need to bring his painting materials and canvases that resided under his bed, ignored as Regulus does not have any particularly flashing inspiration that kept him up even at night — not until he finished James Potter’s portrait back at his studio in Grimmauld Place.

And Potter was there too.

Just as it was a tradition for Regulus and Sirius to spend their days at home inside Regulus’ studio, it was a tradition for Regulus and James — an unspoken one, one they never really bothered to formalize, as they just meet at the Black Lake a few hours after class or dinner.

James stayed there, for a while, peering over Regulus’ shoulder, where he was sketching a dragonfly peacefully perched by the rock a few feet away from them.

"Why’re you drawing that dragonfly?" asked James.

Regulus halted in sketching and looked over at him briefly, before returning to his unfinished work again. "I have nothing else to draw."

James hummed and grinned suddenly, looking at Regulus in the eye. "Draw me then, Reg!"

"I told you not to call me Reg," Regulus sighed. "It wouldn’t make much sense if I drew you now, though, Potter." _since I’ve already painted you._

"And _I_ told _you_ to call me James. You agreed to that," James grumbled, "Why wouldn’t it make much sense then?"

"Fine, James," Regulus conceded with a tired look, pointedly ignoring James’ other question.

James, though, picked up on his avoidance and repeated his question. "Reg. Why wouldn’t it make sense if you drew me?"

"Don’t think too much on it," was the only thing Regulus was able to say as an answer. He quickly looked for other alternatives to get James off his back. He couldn’t really say ‘ _hey, I already painted you, so it’s pretty stupid if I drew you now_.’ Luckily, Regulus thought of a certain red-haired Gryffindor that he was sure could distract the boy beside him.

"It’s getting pretty late, don’t you think you should ask Evans if she wants to be escorted up Gryffindor tower?" Regulus mentioned casually.

James perked up instantly and bought it. "You’re right, Reg, you’re a genius! I’ll be going now, don’t stay up too late!"

Regulus watched a smiling James go with a small simper of his own. It stings a little, mainly how replaceable he was.

Dusk comes and then it is nightfall. Regulus was still sitting by the Black Lake.

The air around the lake was relatively calm. The water was sparse, glistening every once in a while. Although Regulus would describe it more of a deceptively calm atmosphere, as a lure. Regulus felt that he should turn away now — run back to the dungeons and tuck himself in bed, as he stared at the night sky’s full moon.

He _had_ been around the Black Lake for much too long. How he wasn’t caught yet was a mystery — but no one did check much on these parts, after all. Regulus could stay here all night and he was at least seventy percent sure that he wouldn’t land in detention. Filch was busy with other troublemaking groups, after all. Namely one: the Marauders.

Sirius informed him the moment they got their supposed ‘group name’ at late second year. They started to pull pranks here and there, and went off at the end of the school year with fireworks and a myriad of Gryffindor red and gold. Regulus remembered dusting himself of all the confetti and glitters after that.

Just as Regulus was packing up to go back to the Slytherin dorm rooms, he heard a howl in the distance. Although faded, he could still hear them. Consecutive howls that made it perfectly clear for Regulus what it was: a werewolf. There was a rumor at Hogwarts that what they hear every night was a ghost — a ghost from the haunted Shrieking Shack, they said. Followed by a _don’t go near it, you may see the ghost_. But now that Regulus has heard it for himself, here, outside, where he was fully vulnerable and alone, he knew what those howls were. He knew what resided inside the Shrieking Shack.

Regulus could visibly feel himself shake. He swallowed and took shallow, quick breaths that did nothing but raise the alarms in his head screaming _dangerdangerdanger_ — but Regulus couldn’t walk even a step further, with his toes stuttering and knees almost buckling by the fear that’s consuming him.

It was _ridiculous_ ; Dumbledore, letting a werewolf inside Hogwarts. Letting it run free and possibly, wreak havoc so close to the school grounds. If discovered, this could potentially break the school’s whole reputation along with Albus Dumbledore himself. It could even close down the whole school indefinitely.

Although Regulus could believe it. Dumbledore was a bleeding heart, even though he was a cunning man that was never in Regulus’ good graces— and though he had a hard time processing the idea of a werewolf inside Hogwarts, as it was a hard pill to swallow — he eventually found himself walking towards the Slytherin dungeons, not shaking anymore but not thoroughly void of the fear that rocked him from within.

Regulus didn’t get any sleep that night.

* * *

 

Regulus ended up late for his Transfiguration class the next morning.

He couldn’t really process the scolding McGonagall was giving him, still shaken from last night.

He sat numbly throughout the next classes, mind whirling.

Genesis asked him what was wrong at Potions, since they were partners — luckily it did not affect his performance at the class, though, and they brewed a potion worthy of an O — but Genesis noticed how much silent Regulus had gone and how distracted he was at the classes they shared together.

Regulus told him it was nothing.

* * *

 

Dinner came.

Regulus noticed that his brother’s ragtag group was missing a member. The said member was now walking towards their table, grinning sheepishly, as if he was apologizing for missing almost the whole day.

Regulus noticed again one of the things he did at first about Remus; his scars. The way they were littered around his face. The way they crinkle when his eyes droop down a little. The scars are fresh from what Regulus can see. And it seemed like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Regulus wonders if this was the aftermath of, from what Sirius told him, Remus’ monthly disappearances. He’s always out every once in a month, for a week or for some days, and when he comes back, he will always look like he was beaten black and blue.

Regulus had always wondered where he goes.

Disappearing once a month.

Reappearing full of fresh scars— long slashes and claw marks so much like an _animal’s_.

Regulus almost dropped his fork.

Like a _wolf’s_.

Regulus looked at Remus’ kind, soft expression one more time.

He refuses to believe it.

* * *

 

James does not show up at the Black Lake that day.

Regulus remembers following the young Potter’s figure as he trailed after Lily Evans after dinner finished.

 _It’s okay_ , he told himself. _He has other priorities._

Regulus looked up to see that the night sky tonight beared no moon. _I do, too_.

* * *

 

The next month, Regulus keeps track of the moon charts.

Remus disappeared again the dinner before the full moon, and the day after that.

He reappears with another set of scars.

(He barely knew him; but his brother does. Sirius trusts him, but _does he know_? Regulus hopes he does. Though he probably doesn’t. Remus probably didn’t tell because he was _scaredscaredscared_ of getting scrutiny and shame and hate — and Regulus _understands_ but he has to adjust — Remus is kind, he has to be and Regulus knows _that_.)

Regulus then looked at Remus’ flushed, laughing face, genuine eyes flickering.

Regulus was forced to believe it.

* * *

 

Regulus visited Remus the next month in the hospital wing.

"I already know," he said indifferently. "You are no different."

Remus panicked. He shouted and writhed in phantom pain and closed his eyes.

"Do they know?" Regulus asked as Remus calmed down.

"No," replied Remus in a quiet voice. "They shouldn’t."

Regulus blinked. "They deserve to. Sirius deserves to."

"I know."

"You really should tell them."

Remus nods. A beat of silence follows.

"So you don’t hate me."

Regulus pursed his lips, "I was conflicted, at first. But no. I do not. There are worse things."

Remus’ eyes flashed. "Worse things than a _beast_?"

"Don’t feel too special," said Regulus firmly. "You aren’t."

The hospital wing was shrouded in silence then, that moment. They let everything sink in, and Remus finally turned to Regulus with a smile.

"I suppose. Thank you, Regulus," Remus conceded. "I’ll consider telling them."

Regulus told himself that it was good enough.

 


	3. i’ll pick a bunch for your room

Sometimes, Regulus wonders how Remus got through all his full moons.

He wonders how the scarred boy felt, being constantly alone while his ribs cracked and his body deformed, turning into something — _someone_? — that was him but at the same time not. He wonders if it gets better over time: the pain, the transformation, the loneliness. Always having a secret to keep.

He wonders if not telling was the same as lying. Perhaps it was just withholding information on Remus’ part, given that his reasons were not quite unfounded. People do tend to be untoward towards werewolves, and if Regulus himself had something as big like that to hide, he would certainly not tell anybody else.

So maybe he understood where Remus was coming from. So maybe he gets it.

And looking at him now, laughing with his friends, with them unknowing of what he was, what he _is_ , maybe Regulus would have done the same as Remus, if put in his shoes — because he wouldn’t give up something as precious as that to the world.

(Regulus certainly wasn’t looking towards the boy with moon glasses as his eyes turned into soft crescents as he thought this, though. Really.)

* * *

 

In the middle of third year, Regulus finally accepted it to himself that Sirius’ ragtag group of friends were not going to leave him alone.

It was James Potter, at first.

Always looking out to meddle with Regulus’ calming hours at the Black Lake, rambling about random stupid things and Evans with her hair.

Then Remus came.

Regulus does kind of regret now that he chose to confront Remus briefly about his situation. Now the damn boy would not leave him alone. It was an unfortunate thing that Remus sometimes spends his time at the library, because Regulus visits there from time to time.

"Hey, Regulus, are you having trouble with your Charms essay?"

"We’re in different years, Lupin."

Remus smiled as he sat down across from him. "Oh please, call me Remus. And I’m a year ahead of you, I’ve already gone through that."

"I can’t find it in myself to care, thank you, I can do this myself." Regulus swiftly denied a second time.

"But it will be done faster with help."

"Go back to Sirius."

"That idiot can go a day without me."

Regulus doubts it. A lot. "My brother depends on you for _everything_ , Lupin. I’m hardly blind. I’ll be surprised if he can go an hour without your presence."

"Well, he kind of does, doesn’t he? And Lupin is a bit of a stretch, given that you already know my secret, I think you should really call me Remus."

Honestly, Regulus was close to tearing his hair out. "He does because you spoil him too much. And, fine. Fine. Remus. Whatever. You, James and my brother will be the end of me."

Remus perks up at that. "James? You call him by his first name? You talk?" he hummed. "I didn’t know that."

"He insisted, just like you did. You Gryffindors and your stubbornness." Regulus gave a noncommittal shrug. "And you mean _he talks_. He keeps on talking and talking, and I just kind of sit there and watch him be an idiot."

Remus barks out a laugh. "Sounds like James, alright," he shifts in his seat to find a more comfortable position. "You mind if I stay? Have to study a bit with Defense theory."

Regulus gave the werewolf a look. "Do I even have a choice?"

* * *

 

Regulus liked his place in their dorm room.

It was between the window and the wall and only a few steps away from the door. At nights, when he can’t sleep, he tucks his chin to his knees and looks out the window, tracing the stars even when he couldn’t.

When he does that and Genesis is still awake, his dormmate looks at him briefly, and then shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything, and Regulus is somehow grateful for that. And when he hears Genesis’ soft snores echoing around the silent room, Regulus begins to shuffle his pillows at the space where his feet should be, then proceeding to lay down in bed upside down, just so that he could look at the clear window with the often starry night sky.

He doesn’t know why he does it, really. Some part of him tells him that he feels curious, because he’s named after a star. The other part of him says that he’s just hopeless, out of inspiration, so he just abandons everything else to look at something beautiful.

Though Regulus himself knows that he does it because as he looks up at the night sky he feels the stars embrace him — like they were welcoming him home.

* * *

 

By the end of third year and Regulus comes home with Sirius, his brother greets him with a question, after fixing their things.

"You’re not stealing my best friend from me, are you, Reggie?"

"Who? James?"

Sirius scrunched up his nose. "What? _James_? Why do you even call him James? And no, not him— my other best friend, you know, Remus?"

"I thought that Potter was your best friend?"

"I can have two best friends, Reg, get over it. Or three, since there’s Peter."

"Oh right, Pettigrew exists." Regulus muses to himself. "No, Sirius. I am not stealing your ‘best friend’ from you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been trying to avoid your group since first year."

"Why, if you say it like that Reg I’ll assume you hold no love for the Marauders—"

"That’s because I do hold no love for the Marauders, Sirius—"

Sirius ignored his comment. "—and since you’ve been trying to avoid us three years long, you should know that we are never going to leave you alone now." he finishes, flashing a triumphant sort of grin.

Regulus regrets his life then. "Sirius, please no."

"Don’t sweat it, dear Reggie, now let’s go to your studio!" Sirius twirled obnoxiously, putting one arm on Regulus’ shoulder, practically dragging him towards his studio.

"I tolerated you calling me Reg, but Reggie is pushing it."

"I’m your brother, there’s no limits."

"I wish I had another brother then."

And Sirius stops, giving Regulus the most betrayed look he could muster. "You did _not_ mean that! I am the _best_ brother in all of Britain, you know that!"

Regulus rolled his eyes at the display. "Do I?"

"I am _hurt_ , Regulus Arcturus Black. How dare you?"

"Alright, alright. You’re the best brother in all of Britain or whatever, just cut that out."

"And you don’t want another brother? Just _me_?"

Regulus sighed. "Yes. Just you."

Sirius breaks out into a grin. "Aw, Reggie, I knew you loved me!"

"Oh Salazar, shut up."

* * *

 

Regulus watched Sirius as he stared at the finished portrait of James Potter.

Although Sirius didn’t know that fact, that the portrait was inspired by his friend, Regulus was eighty percent sure that he would find it out now. Sirius was intelligent, despite his outward actions, and it was easy to know if you observed him enough.

"This.. guy resembles James a lot, you know? Though he looks so serious here. Hey, it’s actually weird not to see him smiling."

"That’s because it is James, Sirius."

And Sirius looked at him fully then. "This is _James_? I mean, not that I don’t see it— it actually does look like him a _lot_ , I told you that, right? But, Reg, you’ve been trying to finish this since.. since I was first year."

"For three years or so. He is kind of awfully hard to paint," Regulus shrugged in an attempt to make it all like a small deal. "I had nothing to draw while you were gone, so I busied myself. I thought he was going to be an easy piece, just a few weeks or so and I’ll be done, but he wasn’t. And you know me, I don’t leave an unfinished piece. Especially here."

"I know that. It’s just weird, I don’t know, like, the portrait? James looks really.. uh, not James? Like it’s really really good, since you painted it, but I kind of expected James grinning or something, if ever he’s drawn or things like that."

Regulus pursed his lips. "I didn’t know if I could paint him with a smile," he looked away from Sirius and made up an excuse. "I didn’t want to make him look more obnoxious than he already is."

Sirius laughed at that. "I guess you’re right," he hummed and looked at the painting again. "You know, Reg, if I didn’t know that you liked your paintings very private, I would have wanted Jamie to see this. He’d like it, I think."

Regulus cocked an eyebrow up. "If he saw this, his ego would skyrocket. And who wants that?"

"Certainly not Evans," Sirius chuckled. "And yep. I bet James’ head wouldn’t even fit the doorframe if he saw this."

"His head already doesn’t fit the doorframe."

"Fair enough."

* * *

 

It was odd.

When Regulus actually thought about it, it _was_ odd that he never saw their mother’s portrait at Grimmauld Place. He knew, of course, that Walburga has a portrait of her own. Their father told him so, but he never did tell Regulus exactly where it was. For the record, Regulus haven’t really asked for its location.

Imagine his surprise when he found the portrait at their house’s library.

It was beneath deep green silk curtains, just hanging there hidden. For the first time in five years Regulus laid his eyes upon his mother.

Walburga stared back, lips in a firm line, jaw set, and chin high. She was always the picture perfect pureblood. Those hard eyes softened for about a second, the portrait realizing the person staring right back.

"Regulus?"

Regulus forced himself not to shiver at the voice — that smooth, sharp, cutting voice.

"You’ve grown quite a lot, I see."

Regulus only managed a nod.

Walburga looked him over again and hummed. "So _soft_. I knew Orion wasn’t going to raise you adequately."

"Father’s doing a good job so far, Mother," Regulus replied.

"At least you have some manners left," Walburga huffed. "But you clearly got that from me."

Regulus decided to pursue another matter. "Why are you hung in the library?"

Walburga smiled at him coldly. "Because your Father knew you and your brother never enters the library."

That was true. Although Regulus liked books and enjoyed reading them, he considered their library too eerie and ominous to visit, and so he stayed in his studio. Sirius wasn’t a big fan of reading, so he never did consider going to the library.

"So he was keeping you away from us?"

"Yes, of course, because Orion is a fool," his mother sneered.

"I thought it was you who became a fool for him, Mother?" Regulus quipped.

And Walburga’s eyes flashed like it always did when she was about to shout at Sirius and Regulus, her mouth turned down in an ugly frown, the same way it always did when one of them was going to get sent to the drawing room to be disciplined. "How _dare_ you? Your lack of respect astounds me! I raised you to be such a good child, too, Regulus, to be the perfect Black and you turned up to be as much of a disappointment as Sirius was. If I was still alive you would never have been like thi—"

" _If_ you were alive," Regulus cut her off. And he knew it was a low blow; that it was a far too sensitive topic to touch, but he said it anyway, because Sirius was _wonderful_. He wasn’t whatever Walburga said, and he will always, always be a figure in his life. "But you are not."

With insults still being hollered at his face, Regulus closed the curtains and exited the library.

* * *

 

When fourth year rolled in, Regulus still hasn’t completely buried the memories of his encounter with his mother.

Bits of it was still replaying in his mind, how he became a disappointment, how he was too soft to be a Black, to belong— to be her _son_.

Regulus will _always_ care about whatever Walburga had to say. He will always be affected with whatever comes out her lips, no matter how much he equally despised the woman. Walburga was still his mother, undeserving of the little respect he gives her or not.

Regulus never really got around to telling Sirius about their mother’s portrait at the library, since he knew that Sirius wouldn’t be particularly fond of the shared information, and he wasn’t very comfortable discussing it.

Beside Regulus, Genesis grunted and kept tapping the table with the end of his quill. "I hate Divination!"

"Why did you take it as an elective then?"

"I thought it was easy to write gibberish in this subject, get off my back."

Regulus shrugged. "Serves you right."

"Can it. What electives did you take anyway?" Genesis shot back as he threw a pillow at Regulus’ direction.

"Astronomy and Ancient Runes."

Genesis didn’t look that surprised. "Of course you’d take Astronomy. With the way you look out the window almost _every_ night I actually won’t be surprised if you snuck out the common room to stargaze, or something."

"Shut up, Gen."

His dormmate only laughed at him. "You _totally_ sneak out at nights don’t you?"

"I do _not_." Regulus huffed, throwing Genesis’ previously thrown pillow back at him.

"But you would?" insisted Genesis, catching the pillow and placing it beside him.

"I would not. Go back to your Divination assignment."

"No, I’ll just say something like ‘ _My Inner Eye isn’t opened yet_ ’ and all that. I bet I would even get an E. For _Eye_."

Regulus rose an eyebrow. "You’d be lucky to get a P."

"Oh sod off, Regulus."

* * *

 

At the end of the day, when Regulus arrived at the Black Lake, James was already there.

Regulus didn’t make himself known and just observed the Gryffindor boy in the distance. As always, James’ presence felt heavy, and it left Regulus feeling small. He was very... out there, for the lack of a better term. Vivid but serene, like he was right now.

It was a bit unnerving.

"What are you doing here?"

James noticed him then, and flicked his head to his direction. "Admiring nature."

"I doubt that," replied Regulus.

"Oh c’mon, can’t I admire nature without judgement, please?"

Regulus scoffed. "Don’t be a drama queen."

James put his hands up in the air, as if to indicate surrender. "That’s not my job. That’s Sirius’ job."

"Fair point," Regulus accepted. "But you still haven’t answered my question."

"I told you, admiring nature! What do you want from me, Reg?"

"The truth, for one, James."

James looked genuinely surprised at that one. "You called me James! Without me telling you to! This is _gold_ , Reg. You just made my day."

"You’ve been pestering me for three years to call you that, don’t overreact. And I’m pretty sure Evans alone could already make your day."

The Potter boy actually seemed a bit down about the fact that the Gryffindor girl was mentioned. "Ugh, don’t bring up Lily."

"And why? I thought you’d be ecstatic that I did."

"She’s dating that Ravenclaw sixth year. He is totally _too_ old for my Lilyflower! He’s a sixth year!"

"James, in case you forgot, even my brother involves himself with sixth years. Even _seventh_ years. And he’s only one year ahead."

James ignored the Sirius part. "Exactly! One year ahead! That’s, like, so old!"

"Then that means you’re old, too." Regulus countered.

"What? No I’m not!"

"You’re a year ahead of me. You are _so old_." Regulus replied, hooking his fingers in the air as if to imitate James’ statement.

"That is different and you know it," James hissed. "Why are you betraying me, Reg? We could’ve been dissing that guy for hours now!"

"Gossiping? Really, James? What are we, elementary girls?"

"We could have been!" James groaned and rolled over the grass, putting his chin between his palms and pouting. Regulus thought that he looked like an absolute idiot. "It’s just, I’ve been after her for years, you know? The start of Hogwarts! First year! And, and.. I don’t know. She just doesn’t see me. Like, as me. I don’t even prank Snivell — ugh, Snape — fine," James corrected after Regulus gave him a look. "I just don’t get it."

"Don’t come to me for advice. You’re not being very subtle about it," James sent Regulus a pleading look. "I won’t be able to say anything helpful. I have no experience whatsoever about your fancies, so drop it."

"Fine," James conceded. "And that’s totally right. Don’t ever like, get a crush or something. Or fall in love. You’ll end up like me. A mush. An absolutely dashing mush, but whatever."

"I don’t plan to, but thanks anyway."

And James suddenly sat upright with a realization. "Holy shit!"

Regulus muttered a soft ‘language’ under his breath.

"You really _cannot_ date! Your suitors would have to go through me and Sirius. Merlin, how have we overlooked this? What if someone’s already wooing you? Sirius would _die_."

"Don’t be gross, James. No one is ‘wooing’ me."

"Pure, innocent, Reggie—"

"Don’t call me Reggie!"

"—what if you’re already corrupted? What am I gonna do?"

"Nothing, that’s what. You’re being a drama queen again, James. You can certainly contest my brother for the crown." Regulus said, putting a stop to James’ antics.

"Oh you’re right, I _can_ ," James mumbled. "I’ll have to challenge Sirius now, then? What d’you think, Reg? Am I obnoxious enough?"

Regulus groaned.

* * *

 

It was a horrible sight.

His brother, James, and Pettigrew in a library.

A _library_.

"What are you all doing here, exactly?" Regulus asked, after the shock gradually died down. Remus was there of course, but he was only burying his head between the palms of his hands, looking completely, absolutely done.

Sirius perked up at his voice and seemed to look around to see if there were anyone in their current vicinity, and when he was satisfied, he practically dragged Regulus all the way to their table and spoke to him in a hushed voice. "We’re learning to be Animagus, Animagi— whatever. Y’know, animal thingies—"

"Yes, I do know, no need to elaborate, Sirius. But why? You’re aware this is as close to impossible for teenagers to accomplish?"

"I told them that, but they didn’t listen. Hi, by the way, Regulus." Remus explained as he waved towards Regulus’ direction.

Regulus waved back, albeit a little short lived.

Sirius, however, along with James and Pettigrew, looked at Remus with hesitant expressions as if they were waiting for him to say something, and that was where Regulus understood the whole fiasco.

"Oh so it’s for Remus? For his.. monthly.. escapades?"

Remus groaned. "Why do you have to make it sound like _that_?"

"Wait. You _knew_?" Sirius almost shouted. "And _I_ didn’t?"

James looked as equally shocked by this information as well as Pettigrew.

"Okay, to be fair, I only knew about it last year. And I figured it out for myself, unlike you, since Remus probably owned up and admitted things."

Sirius was still staring at him.

"So you magically figured out Remus here had a, you know, furry little problem?" Sirius drily said.

"I did not ‘magically’ figure it out. There were clues. Pieces. I connected them, talked to him, that’s it. He did not tell _me_ before he told _you_."

"It’s true, don’t corner him," Remus added. "But he was the one to convince me to tell you all sooner, though."

Regulus shot him a look that said ‘not helping’ and Remus just shrugged noncommittally.

"Can we talk about this later and discuss why you’re planning to become an Animagus? It’s dangerous without supervision."

Sirius was still a bit miffed about the situation, so James answered instead. "We figured out that, uh, Remus can’t turn animals in his form. So, we decided to be Animagi to, like, accompany him during full moons, or something. So that he doesn’t always get so lonely."

"Noble of you," Regulus commented, choosing not to ask anymore. "Alright, I’ll go. I’m overstepping things here and such, so I’ll go back to my common room."

"Um, you’re not. Not. Er, overstepping or anything, Reg, I’m sorry, you know me. I thought I was left out and.."

Regulus sighed at his brother and flicked him in the head. "Shut up. I know. It’s okay."

"Aw, Reggie, you’re adorable!"

Regulus was just about to snap at James for calling him Reggie again, but Sirius beat him to it.

" _What_? What is _this_? Why is James calling you Reggie? I’m the only one who can call my little brother that!"

"He let me!"

"I did _not_." Regulus denied.

"Is that true? Tell me, did you really betray _me_ like this, Reg? How could y—"

"Salazar, shut your mouth. I’m going. I can’t stand this. Good night, whatever— get _off_ me, Sirius, don’t cling to my legs— I did not let him call me that. You are both idiots."

"But that nickname was reserved for me! Your best older brother!"

Regulus breathed out heavily. "For fuck’s sake, Sirius, how many times am I going to tell you that you are my _only_ brother?"

James and Sirius gasped.

"You cursed!"

"I told you, Sirius! Someone corrupted Reg!"

"Don’t call him Reg, James! You _traitor_!"

Eventually, Regulus managed to slip away.

 


	4. green and blue to match your pictures

In this place, time relentlessly carried on.

No slow burns, no gentle ticking and foreboding warnings — just a sudden breeze announcing that another year has gone by (or, another twelve whole months of doing nothing). Previously, Regulus thought he would feel every second and every minute of the year. He thought things would slow down, move in a motion he cannot flow with, and he’ll be forced to watch from the sidelines, a brush in his tingling hands.

Only one thing was checked off from the list. Only his tingling hands. They were itching to paint something. One of worth, one of beauty, one of his. Another year was spent wrongly. Regulus, swaying alone for weeks, sketching circles and circles of circles. In his dorm, he couldn’t touch the brush. He kept pulling out a canvas week per week until it turned day per day, but the canvas stayed empty. It would be the same canvas everytime; Regulus kept it under his bed, in hopes of getting struck with something inspirational, something sensational enough to make him pick up the brush and dip it with green.

Green, the colour that surrounded him, along with silver. Green, the unchanging color of the daffodils he painted when he was young. Green, the colour of his tie. Green, the colour of the curtains that hung beside his bed. Green, the colour that Sirius didn’t have— nor does James. They were all.. red. Red, the original colour of the daffodils. Red, the colour of his brother’s tie. Red, the colour of Evans’s hair: one James could weave poems about. Red, the colour that haunted him every time he tried to think; red— an overbearing swirl of colour, bright and conquering, one thing Regulus didn’t have. He was all cuts and corners, dim streetlights and silver rings. They shine, of course, but not as bright; not as vivid as the lights on the Great Hall that day.

Flags of green flapped as they hung on the ceiling of the Great Hall, indicating Slytherin’s victory of the House Cup that year.

The year is done, and all Regulus thought about were colours and his emptiness of it.

* * *

 

A light flickered in Regulus’s eyes, and then he’s in the Great Hall again, a variety of blinding colours greeting him — green, red, blue, yellow — he pieces it together, and realizes that it’s his fifth year.

* * *

 

Regulus cursed Genesis and his tendency of staying in bed on weekends. Genesis insisted he was harrased at Divination time yesterday, so he needed extra sleeping hours to open his inner eye. Regulus wanted to hex both of his eyes so he can never open one again.

And so, Regulus, a person of personal space, stalked off to the Black Lake with a pencil and sketchbook in hand, though he knew he’d end up marring pages of the sketchbook with nonsensical circles, anyway.

By the time he arrived near the Black Lake, he found James and Evans seated on the grass; they weren’t really talking, just staring off at a distance with little care of their surroundings. The sun in the middle of the day casted them a shadow that made their figures seem larger, longer, untouchable. Evans’s hair lightly moved with the wind, and the colour of red burned Regulus’s gaze. He didn’t look away, though, he remained there, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for a breakthrough. Maybe the sun would shine brighter, giving them a golden frame, making their shadows dance. Maybe they would stand. Maybe they would notice him, a passerby. Maybe James would turn his head, and maybe he’d feel sorry for currently occupying Regulus’s only recreational place. Maybe, if he stayed longer, he’d understand how he felt. But the longer he looked, the more confused he slowly became.

Eventually, he realized, that he didn’t talk much with Sirius’s ragtag group anymore after fifth year started for him, and sixth for them. They’d pass by each other on the halls, exchange smiles, some pleasantries, some knocking of the shoulders, but never talked. It was a nice change of environment, especially when he wanted some peace and quiet — he got a healthy dose of Sirius every break anyways when he gushed about Remus, be it of his intelligence, his hair, his looks, his scars, his gentleness and snark — so why bother? Late last year and the opening of this year, when Regulus goes to the Black Lake, he was alone more often than not. The silence wasn’t deafening, but it was heard loud and clear.

After that, Regulus made a mental note not to visit the Black Lake again.

* * *

 

Genesis was still covered up in his sheets when Regulus got back, though that wasn’t very surprising — his trip was quite short, after all.

Regulus ignored Genesis for the mean time, and pulled out the ever-empty canvas under his bed. Flickers of red and black locks enveloped by the glimmering sun flashed through the back of his mind, taunting, and he quickly picked up a brush, swirled colours of crimson and shades of black and white. He smeared the canvas for the first time in months.

Regulus started to outline the pillars first. He didn’t dare paint this cathedral piece of pure holy white — he had to use red. He had to use what he doesn’t have, so that he can compensate for it. Perhaps he’d feel better the next day, after inverting the chroma of churches. He didn’t quite understand why a cathedral came out when he was painting, he didn’t think he’d actually come up with anything at all, really — but he didn’t know where it came from. A thought inside of him rang out, that perhaps it was because it looked like the sun casted James and Evans a halo worthy of sanctity that day and the only thing that stuck to him in front of all that devoutness was red and red alone.

The piece was left unfinished after a few numbing hours. Regulus’s hands still tingled but not quite the same as before; it has mellowed down, only softly humming. Regulus sat on the bed beside the canvas, waiting for it to dry so he could cover it and leave.

Leave. Find something else to do. Something not as stifling.

* * *

 

The world still turned after Regulus finally painted, even though it was still a half-finished piece. It still spins, as slow and unnoticeable as ever, a picture of stealth. However, after finally regaining the feeling of his nerves and fingers, how time passed by became visible for Regulus. The clock didn’t just carry on, unlike the previous year. He’s aware. Cognizant. Not fully awake to understand, but just conscious enough to know that time is passing by, and he’s doing something while it does.

Regulus did not feel any contentment. He could feel something crawling at the back of his throat, as always, but it was not contentment. Just acceptance.

“You’re actually touching your food, Black,” Snape commented, after swallowing a mouthful.

It was breakfast, at the Great Hall. His mind had wandered; and he could only stare voidly at the older boy.

“Isn’t it a good thing?” came his reply, after a few blinks and tapping in his mind.

“I suppose..” Snape trails off. “It makes me a little wary.”

Regulus was genuinely surprised this time. “Wary of what, exactly?”

“You’re related to that Gryffindor, after all. I can’t always expect you to stray from his influence. Out of the norm for you means there must be a a turn of events.” The sixth year supplied without missing a beat, as if he had already thought about this before and could only voice them now.

“You got four whole years of peace from me, Snape,” Regulus pointed out. “Just because I ate a spoonful this morning doesn’t mean I’ll suddenly become Sirius the next minute.”

Snape hummed. “You never know with you Blacks.”

Regulus firmly ignored Snape’s comment and finished his breakfast.

* * *

 

Sirius seeked Regulus out after classes.

Though they do not often talk at Hogwarts, they were still close — perhaps not like the childish closeness they had back then since they matured, but they stayed intact nonetheless. Sirius dragged him to the kitchens and started panicking right off the bat.

He paced first, then thumped his head on the wooden table like an elf after being scolded (it did alarm the house elves around the kitchens that time by the way, and some house elves even imitated Sirius), next he sulked on a corner while munching on a piece of pastry, then afterwards held Regulus’s hand like he was pleading for something.

Regulus sighed. “Sirius, no matter how much you think it, I cannot read your mind. Just tell me.”

Sirius only made obscene hand gestures.

“I don’t know this ridiculous sign language either.”

Sirius groaned. “It’s Remus, Reggie. He’s.. he’s.. frustrating! I don’t know, he’s like..” he proceeded to make another set of hand gestures and kept flailing.

“Okay, stop with the hands, Sirius. It’s distracting. _No_ — I meant put your hands down. Not like _that_ , just keep it beside you and don’t tap— _ugh_ stop waving it around— you know _what_ , nevermind,” Regulus felt the sudden urge to thump his head on a wooden table now. “What’s this about Remus? Are you going to tell me how smart he is this time or how good he looks when he falls asleep?”

“I don’t talk about that!”

Regulus only raised a brow.

“..Fine, maybe I do, but it’s because it’s true! But it’s not about that this time, okay?”

“Alright. So what is it about? Have you figured out your long-term.. affection or something terribly similar?”

Sirius lightly punched Regulus’ shoulder. “What? Where are those coming from! There’s nothing and I totally don’t get distracted by how his hair falls during classes, or how cute he looks when he concentrates, no— that’ll be weird, right? _Right_?”

Regulus didn’t know if Sirius was convincing him or himself. He has a strong feeling that it’s the latter. “Calm down. You notice things about Remus and you like him, that much is evident. It’s not weird,” he pauses. “You just have to accept it.”

“ _Like_?” Sirius squeaked out. “As in _that_ type of like?”

“You’re not twelve. Yes. It’s that type of like. Like-like. Whatever you label it. You know it too, I can tell. You wouldn’t have freaked out like this if you didn’t at least have an inkling of it.”

“Yeah, I do have clue, but..” Sirius trailed off and let out a heavy breath. “Is that okay? Is _this_ okay?”

Regulus’s mind took him back to the time where he painted a faceless boy with midnight black tousled hair, to the time where he looked at a boy with warm eyes and round glasses and felt something he couldn’t quite place what was, to the time when his heart ached just right when he arrives at the Black Lake every afternoon.

To the time when he felt exactly what Sirius was feeling right now. (He still feels it, actually.)

“Yes, Sirius. It’s okay.”

Sirius smiled at him ambiguously with a certain resignation dancing in his eyes. “I never thought.. I..”

“You never thought that you’ll ever look at someone that way? That you could feel something genuine? Something not imbued to you?”

“You sound awfully familiar with this, Reg. Makes me wonder sometimes.”

Regulus waved him off. “There’s nothing. I just know you too well.”

Sirius sighed. “I never know what’s going on with you. C’mon. Tell me. Maybe there’s not a someone, but something’s definitely there. I know you too.”

Regulus leaned on one hand and closed his eyes briefly before speaking, “I was having trouble painting. I couldn’t hold a brush for months. Things just seemed to fly by. It’s... I feel empty.”

“You’re speaking in past tense. You can paint again, then?” Regulus mentally scolded himself for not remembering Sirius’s keen eyes and ears to details.

“Yeah, I can.”

“How did you find inspiration? It was probably something special to you. You can’t get out of  a block that easy, Reg.” insisted Sirius.

“There was just this scenery. Nevermind that. It’s not really important. It’s superficial,” Regulus tapped on the surface of the wooden table slightly. “I don’t know how long this’ll last, though. I still haven’t finished the piece.”

Sirius caught on to Regulus’s quick diversion, but let it go for the mean time. “Can I see it sometime?”

“On holidays, when we go back home. It’ll probably be finished by then.”

Sirius snorted. “You sure that you wouldn’t be distracted half way?”

“Oh shut up.”

The older Black sibling only patted Regulus at the back to show some consolation. “I missed you, Reg.”

“Missed you too, Siri.”

* * *

 

Breakfast the day before the holidays was dull.

Regulus noted that the Marauders were absent from Gryffindor’s table, their usual space empty, even though the plates were full. He didn’t think much of it and went back to picking at his food. So far, he was making progress with the cathedral painting. He was able to add some depth to the structure, but it didn’t look alive. He couldn’t feel like it was his.

Owls came in while Regulus was deep in thought. Some letters were delivered and the Daily Prophet was handed out uniformly. Murmurs erupted from Regulus’s hearing and he turned to look at the other tables. The Prophet was in their hands, not flipped to one page but stayed firmly at the headlines.

Regulus peered over Genesis’s shoulder.

_Oh._

_So that’s why._

Fleamont and Euphemia Potter were dead.

* * *

 

After that, no one questioned the Marauders’ absences.

Rumors circled around that day on the train back home. That the Potters were killed by Voldemort, that he was finally on the move. That he was targeting those who refuse him.

They weren’t wrong. Regulus has been a Slytherin for almost five years; he knew what went around the vines. People around him were recruiting, forming groups. They tried to take him, once — he didn’t refuse, but he didn’t accept either. He was only thirteen that time, when they talked to him. He told them he would only watch. Avery didn’t support that. He told Regulus to pick a side, because he was a  _Black_ — surely he was raised better than that, he even added. Regulus let them think what they wanted to think. He only kept saying he’d be neutral, because that’s what a true Black would do. Stay on the safe side. No side was guaranteed a victory; only the one standing in between was. Avery still wasn’t particularly convinced, but left him alone. This was the main reason why he tended to stay in his dorms or at the Black Lake (although that option was gone. Regulus was heavily considering the kitchens as a substitute).

He hasn’t told Sirius about any of this.

He woke Genesis up when the train finally stopped.

* * *

 

Orion stood tall on the platform, a cane in his right hand, while the other was stuffed in his left pocket.

Regulus couldn’t remember the times when Orion’s presence was demeaning. That time surely existed, no doubt; but he couldn’t find the similarities of the Orion before to the Orion he was currently looking at. It showed how someone’s mere existence changed people. It showed how heavy someone could be.

While Regulus was walking towards his father, two familiar figures entered his vision.

“Reg! You’re just in time. James will stay with us for the holidays,” Sirius looked uncomfortable after that. “Since.. that..”

Regulus looked at James briefly before turning back to Sirius. “Yes, I’m aware. Father said it’s fine?”

Sirius shrugged. “I was about to ask.”

“It’s fine. He can stay in the guest room.” Orion’s voice cut through them both, and Sirius couldn’t hide how his expression lighted up at this. James also looked like he breathed a sigh of relief, although his features still somewhat sagged.

“Thank you...?” James trailed off, clearly uncertain of what to call Orion.

“Orion.”

James looked uneasy at calling Orion so casually, but his Father didn’t seem to mind. Regulus thought it was odd. And by Sirius’s expression, he thinks it’s definitely strange, too.

“Thank you, uh, Orion, sir.”

Orion only nodded.

Sirius basically skipped on their way to Grimmauld Place.

Regulus thought that it’d be a long week.

* * *

 

When they finally settled down back home, Sirius was positively humming and kept showing James around.

Regulus retreated to his studio, of course. Laced with peace and quiet—

“And here— here’s Reg’s studio!” came Sirius’s voice from outside. Regulus sighed and waited.

“You sure we can enter, Pads?”

“If Reg’s here, we can. And he’s _definitely_ here. Trust me.”

The door to his studio opened and revealed his brother and James.

They both stared at the cathedral painting, one Regulus didn’t bother to cover once he heard their voices, since they would surely want to take a look after they enter. Why deny the inevitable?

“So this is what you were working on!” Sirius exclaimed, inching closer to the canvas. James followed after him.

“Don’t get too close. I just finished, it hasn’t dried yet.”

Sirius nodded, and cocked his head sideways, inspecting the finished piece. It was a cathedral made with various shades of red — the floor was the lightest colour, and the ceiling the darkest. The pillars were a swirl of crimson shades; they looked like they were changing colours as you looked at them longer. The walls were painted a gradient of red, connecting the hues of the floor and the ceiling, making them seem like one entity. Two windows were parched in between the spaces of these walls. Through the first window’s glass was the morning sun, blinding and bright, illuminating a side of the cathedral. Through the second window’s glass was the midnight moon, far duller in contrast, and it gleamed its borrowed light on the ground, creating an illusion of stardust.

“You rarely do something that isn’t alive,” To Regulus’s surprise, it wasn’t Sirius that commented this, even though he saw more of Regulus’s pieces. It was James who said it, his hands tucked on the pockets of his trousers, a cryptic sort of smile dancing on his face.

“That’s.. true,” Regulus muttered, enough for the three of them to hear. “I guess something just struck me, then.”

“Right. You never told me what inspired you to do this when I asked you, you know,” Sirius cut in.

“I told you, it’s merely superficial. Just a passing thing.”

“When you first picked up a brush when we were young and took art classes together, you told me it’s just a ‘passing thing’. And here you are.”

“I guess I tend to get attached with things that pass by.” Regulus thought back to red hair, moon glasses and the Black Lake. “It’s a gamble. You’ll never know if those things will stay.”

“..Reg, you’re awfully poetic today.” Sirius commented, after a brief silence. James was looking at him oddly, and he diverted the attention to something else.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Regulus asked as he left the stool and put away his recent painting to dry.

“Ah, just thought that maybe James would want to see your studio. You guys talk sometimes, right?”

Regulus hid his wince.

James answered for him. “Yeah. We don’t talk much now, though. Reggie stopped coming to our usual place. Really, I felt betrayed!”

“We don’t have a ‘place’, James.” _but we used to._

“What’s this place?” Sirius followed up while helping Regulus put his materials away.

“Just the Black Lake. Found him there third year, or something, he was painting too. He looked so little.”

“Of course I looked little. I was twelve.”

“You’re still little now, though.”

“Sod off,” Regulus almost flung the brush he was putting away at James’s direction. “I grew up.”

“Ah! Speaking of growing up, little Prongsie’s growing up too. Evans is finally talking to him now.”

Regulus pretended not to know. He pretended that he didn’t see the two of them seated together at the Black Lake. He pretended the cathedral wasn’t for him. “Really? I didn’t notice. You’d wonder what got into her head. She’s usually rational.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Hey! You two talk to me!”

“Well, we have no choice,” Sirius started.

“But she did.” Regulus finsihed.

“You’re both jerks,” James huffed. “Lily’s really nice. She’s beautiful— of course, but she’s witty, funny, and really kind. She’s passionate about things she likes, like advocating, reading, finding out something new. You know that? It’s when her eyes light up and everything around her does, too. It’s.. it’s really beautiful.”

Regulus doesn’t know that. He doesn’t really care, too. But the way James’s face looked like when he talked about Lily? The way his lips turn up unconsciously when he lists off things he found beautiful about her? The way his voice sounded like when he told them this? He wanted more of that. He cared about that. That’s what he wants to see.

_It’s not weird._ Regulus recites.

“Yeah, we know, Prongs, you like her, and all that.”

And James laughed, lightly knocking Sirius’s shoulders.

_You just have to accept it._

The moment Regulus does, he felt an ominous itch crawling at the back of his throat.

He ignored it and went on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven’t updated for a long, long while! here’s something. the pacing will be really fast and subtly incorporated, by the way. this is a pretty short story, after all. because i wanted some suffering and jegulus content. this update took a lot out of me? i’m not used to writing a chapter again. i usually just do some drabbles and go. i’m sorry if the text seemed straightforward and flowed badly. my brain cells aren’t cooperating.


	5. you looked so good in green

 

The first few days of James staying over at Grimmauld Place was fairly quiet.

He would stick to Sirius’ side, mostly, and since Sirius was mostly at Regulus’ side, both Gryffindors were practically glued to Regulus’ studio. The first time they actually hung around the studio while Regulus was starting a smaller piece, Sirius immediately broke into a tune and sang, like it was automatic — like a _system_. Neither sibling thought that it was odd, because it was the tradition, the practice. James, however, had no clue of Sirius’ apparent hobby, or talent.

(It went a little like this:

“Sirius, that song’s obscene.” Regulus commented, sighing, “Please don’t sing about naked people.”

Sirius shrugged. “Blame the muggles, Reg. It’s their lyrics. Plus, the tune’s pretty catchy.”

Regulus just rolled his eyes. Both brothers seemed to forget the third person in the room, already shifting into a comfortable setting.

James, not one to be ignored, cleared his throat. “Uh, Pads?”

Sirius looked at him over his shoulder and lifted a brow, still singing. And, as if a switch was flipped, Sirius fumbled and looked away, as if embarrassed, immediately stopping the song.

“You _sing_?” asked James. “Not _cool_. You actually have talent and what do _I_ have? Only my dashing good looks and mad Quidditch skills! And you have those too!”

To this, Sirius let out a small breath of relief and barked a startled laugh, and Regulus? Regulus just rolled his eyes _again_.)

When not at the studio, the two were often at James’ room, surprisingly quiet. Regulus passed by once — or twice — their newest guest’s room, and sometimes, he swears he can hear the faint tune of Sirius’ voice. Slow, soft, melodious. He knows how that sounds, he _knows_ when exactly Sirius uses that voice. He’s heard that from Sirius before one time, when he was particularly down. He only uses it on fragile, sensitive situations, to calm someone down, or maybe make them remember they still have someone.

And that’s how Regulus remembered. That’s how he remembered that James — no matter how _much_ he smiles, cracks a grin or a bad joke — has lost his parents. The people he’s had for sixteen years, who took care of him, supported him, _loved_ him. There’s plently of people who loved James, of course, much more who cared for him, but not one of those people can quite replace a parent’s warmth. Not Sirius, not Remus, not Pettigrew, not Evans, _not_ him.

At times like these, Regulus just chooses to forget, even if he keeps remembering. To forget that they’re in the middle of a war. That, in a few years, perhaps even months from now, they’ll be in the center of this madness. Of the losses, the blood, the people who just want to go back _home_ — but _can’t_. (It’s either they can’t go home yet, or there’s no home anymore to come back to.)

They’re all getting older, growing up. They’re all going to have responsibilities. Things to take care of. Work. Jobs. For some, a family. Children. Settling down. (Regulus tries hard not to see James and Evans in a cozy home, looking like they’re made for each other and nothing else. With a child, maybe even two of them, running around — splitting images of each other it just hurts. Regulus tries _hard_ , you see, not to think about it, blocking it on the forefront of his mind. But that’s just it. He tries. Just _tries_. Not ever succeeding.)

Regulus lets out a bitter laugh and stands up. He sways a bit, after knocking one of his foot on the steel of the stool he was sitting on. He puts away the half-painted canvas. Lines it up with the other canvases he never quite finished. Beside these canvases was an edelweiss, still fresh, alone on a marble vase. The vase was gathering dust, although not thick enough to obscure the vase’s pattern. He casts a silent _Scourgify_. He smiles, and remembers that the flower was a gift from James about five, maybe four, years ago. He has.. forgotten, that it even existed, after his first year. Perhaps it was because it was tucked into a corner of his studio, never much on his sights.

It’s odd, to see it fresh. Still in full colour. He doesn’t know if he’s glad it was charmed not to wilt. Edelweiss; to dare. The flower of noble courage. It was very.. Gryffindor. Regulus wonders if James knew what it meant, or if he just picked it out randomly from a store, packaged it, sent it. He doubts he did. He wasn’t the type to know about flowers, anyways. Maybe he thought it looked pretty. Just that. A bit shallow.

Regulus doesn’t know what to do with it, so he leaves it be.

He continues to tidy up his studio.

There’s a scratching again, on the back of his throat.

He leaves that be, too.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Regulus found himself painting the edelweiss.

The concept itself wasn’t any different nor surprising; he had a collection of his paintings of various kinds of flowers, after all. The shoe fits. It wasn’t out of place, it doesn’t stand out. Not like the cathedral. This one — this one was familiar.

And Regulus was having a hard time finding anything familiar these days.

This was safe. His comfort zone.

Everything has been largely different the past few months. The place, the people. Their feelings, their faces. Regulus, himself, has been different. Odd. Not comfortable in his own skin. Sometimes he looks down at his hands and he feels like someone stitched them to his body; it didn’t feel like it was his own. Not in the way they moved, not in the way they were created. It still looked the same — bony, long, sickly pale. The veins showed on the surface and the palm was full of crossed lines. But it didn’t _feel_ the same. His hands were too heavy. Hard to move and hard to use. His fingers were unstable, like they’ll fall off if he did something wrong. He’s careful with them, because he thinks he won’t feel it when they do disappear from his eyes as the feeling in his hands were _numb_.

Regulus put his brush down as he shivered.

Maybe it was because the studio was cold, even if he thinks the room has its own earthy undertones. Sirius laughs at him when he says that. He tells Regulus that his studio was far from cozy, and was nearer to the atmosphere of the dungeons, if their common room was as cold as rumoured. Sirius doesn’t complain about it though. About the way Regulus kept his studio. He even says that he’s used to it, going as far as saying he was beginning to actually like it.

The temperature goes even cooler as the door was opened, revealing James. “Mind if I intrude?”

Regulus pursed his lips and hastily put the painting of the edelweiss away from James’ eyes. After he was done, he turned back to the Gryffindor and motioned him inside. James quickly obliged with a grin on his face. If Regulus noticed that the grin was far too stretched to be genuine, he didn’t comment on it.

“What’s the matter? Did my brother finally kick you out of his room?”

“Nah, he loves me too much for that,” dismissed James. “What? Can’t I talk to you without him?”

“You rarely ever do,” Regulus answered, a brow upturned.

“You talk like we didn’t have our heart-to-heart moments at the Black Lake. _Really_ , Reg, my heart suffers.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Stop calling them heart-to-heart moments, James. There were more of your dramatics than there were talking.”

“Well maybe we’d have more of those talking if you came around the lake more often,” James replied, a slight huff and whine to his tone. He looked at Regulus pointedly and asked. “What’s with that, anyway? You just suddenly decided not to show up. I _waited_ for you. I don’t know, to come by, I guess. To show up. To be there sketching something and listening to me even if I ramble because. Because, you’ve, uh. You’ve always been patient.”

Regulus opened his mouth but his breath felt like it was stuck in his throat. One one hand he was oddly glad that James cared, that he noticed his absence, that he even waited for Regulus. It felt.. comforting, that even if he wasn’t that important to James, he still weighed _enough_ for him to care. On the other hand, he didn’t want to say that he felt — felt.. felt _what_ , anyways? He didn’t even _know_ what he felt back then when he saw them at the lake. He just — just knew that it _hurt_ , and he didn’t want to feel _that_ hurt again, to see that _again_ — so. So he did what he thought he had to. Hide. Avoid. Run away.

“You didn’t.. have to wait. Some things just happened. Things I can’t understand, or possibly,” he’s still catching the last of his breath when he says, “Things I don’t think I want to figure out.”

They fell silent for a while.

“That’s okay,” James said softly. “That’s fine. Time for yourself, and all that. Wish you just.. dunno, wish you just told me. You might deny it, but I think we’re friends, and we tell each other these stuff.”

Ah. There it was again. Regulus briefly felt like he choked on something but he decided to ignore the superficial feeling and swallow it down. It was just his nerves, he could tell, because James was saying they were friends — or that they knew each other enough to make him call Regulus that. This was alright. Something like this was already enough for Regulus.

“Right. I guess we are,” he agreed with a small smile on his face. “I was just confused, at that time. It’s fine now.” he paused. “And you? How about _you_?”

James just glanced at him ruefully. “Me? What about me?”

“Don’t take me for an idiot, James. I’m not.” Regulus pursed his lips. “You told me yourself. We’re friends, aren’t we? And we tell each other ‘ _these stuff_ ’.”

“Put my words right back my mouth, why don’t you,” said James with a small chuckle. “Well. I’m slowly.. getting fine. I can accept it, so I guess that’s progress. I just don’t think _why_ it happened has sunk in yet, you know.”

“ _Why_ it happened?” repeated Regulus. “You mean the war? The sides?”

“Yeah,” James answered with a sigh. “I mean, I’m out of Hogwarts in a year and some months and I know I’ll be seeing more of this fighting firsthand and it’s.. it’s not the life I thought I’d have.” he laughed bitterly. “Not even close.”

“I see.”

“You probably think I’m naïve for thinking of a good life in the middle of all of this, right?”

“No. No, I don’t think you are,” Regulus whispered. “I think of one too. Not a good life. Just one where I’m.. where I’m content. Where Sirius is happy. Where I don’t really _have_ to hide and, and where..” _where I’m happy no matter where you are._

“That’s.. that’s good. I didn’t think you had one of your views of home, too. I always thought you knew what you wanted to do with your life. Decided. No doubts, no regrets.” James murmured with a smile. Genuine, this time. “I guess you’re just like the rest of us.”

“Like the rest, huh.” Regulus said under his breath, contemplating. “Still lost?”

James nodded. “Still lost.”

“I guess I am,” Regulus conceded, “It’s a comfort, belonging to a majority. It makes me feel like I’m not the only one still grappling for a life I can’t lead.”

“Here’s to the life we almost had,” James quipped with a rueful smile.

“Hm, here’s to that,” replied Regulus with a simper of his own. “You’re not alone, James. You have people who care for you. There are people out there for you. It’s not too late to start planning out that life.”

“You too?”

Regulus frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re here too, right? For me.”

 _Ah_. “I— I suppose I am,” Once Regulus was able to trust his voice again, he answered. “Yes. I’m here, too.”

James let out a sigh. “That’s good. You have people too, Reg. People to plan your life with.”

“I know I do,” Regulus paused. “But I already know how it’s going to end. That life, I mean.”

“And how would you? Maybe you should start taking your own advice and realize that it’s not too late, even for you.” James insisted. There was a fire in his eyes when Regulus looked back at him; like he was fighting for a chance. Truth is, they’re _all_ fighting for a chance. For an opportunity to map out their future in detail — to not worry about losing your life or losing someone when looking forward. But Regulus knew when he has already lost. He knew by glancing at the flames lit in James’ eyes that the life he wants was with him, with that _fire_ , but James’ _wasn’t_.

That’s how he knows that it’s too late, even for him. Especially for him.

 

* * *

 

For once, Regulus wasn’t in his studio.

Today, he was in the confines of his room, glancing up at the glowing constellations on the ceiling of his room, marks charmed to come to light. He finds his name next to his brother’s, the lines almost tangled in one another. The bottom half contained his father’s and mother’s names, and their corresponding constellation. Walburga’s was glowing a faded ivory, while the other three were still alight and ablaze.

It’s been a while since Regulus has seen them. Since Regulus has stared at them for long. He remembered that this was once his favorite pastime, just looking at the faux stars decorating the ceiling of his room, littering them with sets of stars. There are other specks of light scattered on the ceiling, too, not just his family’s names. And that’s when he remembers why this was once how he killed time. The scenery was just _too_ beautiful — like it didn’t belong inside Regulus’ room because it was of beauty, of magnificence, because it was _bright_ , and _so_ , _so_ , unlike _him_.

He wants to tear up at the feeling of not being enough. Of not being worth it, not to take notice of, because it was Sirius who was _vivid_ and _full_ of life — there was a reason why their mother was so disappointed seeing Sirius waver and disobey. It was because Sirius was full of potential, he was the one deemed worthy enough of carrying the Black surname wherever he goes because it was like he was _born_ for this. For leading. For _grandeur_. While Regulus was best suited to be a reserve — an option.

And Regulus? What did Regulus have?

( _“You’ve always been patient.”_ )

He let out a choked, teary laugh after James’ voice filtered through his head.

Patient? He wasn’t patient. He just didn’t know how to act. How to not let go, give up.

( _“This is beautiful, Reg! How can you do this? You’re like— still thirteen!”_ )

Do _what_? The painting? The sketches?

It’s not _that_ special. A lot of people could do that. Make beautiful art even younger. It just so happened Regulus has been trying _all his childhood_ to find something he’s good at — he’s worked _hard_ for it. Practiced and practiced and _practiced_ until he can finally do something _right_ , so it wasn’t that good, not that impressive.

( _“You’re a good listener, Reg. Even if you do always say I’m an idiot after.”_ )

He wasn’t.. he _wasn’t_ a good listener.

Regulus just knew how to tune people out — not even feeling the slightest bit guilty that he didn’t even hear a word they said. He didn’t really _care_ , not at all, but he pretended that he did, for the sake of show. Civility. Nevermind that he always listened when it was his brother or James, though, _nevermind_ that he played his favorites when interacting with people. It wasn’t his fault some people were just more important.

He wants to feel bad about this; wants to feel guilty, feel regret — but he _doesn’t_. He doesn’t.

( _“I waited for you.”_ )

Please.

He wasn’t _worth_ waiting for.

Why did James even bother? Why did he even try? Even mind? Care?

It was just him.

Just Regulus.

The second child, second-in-line, replacement, disappointment.

It makes him sick that he’s happy James waited for him. Deemed him enough, maybe, and accepted him as a tentative friend. He felt _sick_ that he’s using what he feels to assure himself that there’s still someone apart from Sirius who treats him like he’s enough. But can you blame him? Can _you_ blame him for being happy on being acknowledged by a person he has unknowingly chased the shadow of? By a person he hangs on every word of? Can you blame him for being happy _just_ for the sake of happiness?

Regulus knows well that he has been crying over one of the most pathetic things in his life. He can’t help but to keep on tearing up, though — to keep on superficially drowning himself with his thoughts and _still_ ignoring the scratching of his throat until it hurts and hurts and _hurts_ — and he’s choking. Choking on something and he feels like he can’t _breathe, breathe, breathe_ —

And he coughs.

( _“It’s not too late, even for you.”_ )

There’s a blood-stained orange petal on his sheets.

Regulus stared at it for a long time.

 _Orange_. And the petal of a _lily_.

An orange lily.

 _Hatred_. _Loathing_. _Contempt_.

Regulus stared at it for _so_ long it made him want to _scream_.

 

* * *

 

Medicine.

 _Medicine_.

Regulus needs medicine. He knows there’s potions for suppressing the effects of Hanahaki. He’s read about it. He knows it’s on the market, drifting on the shelves. It only momentarily stops the growing of the roots inside the lungs, it doesn’t cure it, but Regulus doesn’t _care_. He just knows he needs it for the pain.

He told himself he won’t die just from loving another person ( _too much, so much_ —).

And he knows this isn’t like that. This isn’t love. It’s not, not, _not that_ — it _isn’t_ , not for James, for the person he’s too _late_ for. It’s. not. love. It won’t be. It _can’t_ be.

Right, medicine.

He needs that.

For the pain (James caused—), for the scratching to stop, for the _need_ to scream to just _vanish_. Panic has settled in his veins, in his blood, he realizes, and it makes him run for the library even more.

Maybe his mother has answers.

She had to.

(If she doesn’t, Regulus doesn’t know what else he’ll do.)

Forcing himself to swallow the urge to cough again, Regulus snapped the deep-green silk curtains open. He’s met with his mother’s eyes again, sharp, cutting. A swirl of degrading stares.

“The medicine,” Regulus rasped out.

“How disrespectful, not visiting me for so long and spouting nonsense,” Walburga sniffed. “What medicine?”

“For Hanahaki. The medcine that stops the effects. Those potions. How effective are they? You must have tried them before.” he opened his palm and showed his mother the petal.

Walburga’s eyes snapped into focus. “You utter fool,” she spat. “Have you learned absolutely nothing from me? From what I’ve _become_? Where I ended up?”

“It’s not like I chose this!” he spat back. “I didn’t.. I didn’t _want_ this.” he shook his head in an attempt to clear it. “The medicine, mother. I need to know if it works.”

“ _Choose_ ,” Walburga repeated and sneered. “It’s not like your heart can choose, right? It’s not like you didn’t have half a mind!”

“Mother, the potion! We’re talking about the potion! You talk like you didn’t fall to this.. this _thing_. This _sickness_.”

“Of course it _works_. It wouldn’t sell if it didn’t work, Regulus. It stops the growing — and I presume you know it’s not a cure.” said Walburga.

“I know it can’t cure it,” Regulus replied. “The surgery. Why didn’t you take the surgery?”

Walburga scoffed. “And risk my death? The surgery has never been safe, idiotic boy. The potions were safer. You can last years and years by them _alone_.”

Regulus immediately scraped the idea of taking the surgery away, swallowing, “I see. And, if the medicine could make you last that long, mother, then why didn’t you? Why didn’t _you_ last for more years?”

“Haven’t you said it so before? I acted like a fool,” said Walburga with obvious disgust and disdain. “And it cost me my life. I would _not_ die for Orion.”

Resigned, Regulus could only nod and swallow another cough. He gripped his throat tight enough to bruise but not strong enough to choke. As he was closing the curtains, Walburga called out to him.

“I told him,” she said, uncharacteristically soft. Her tone once again hardened after a moment. “I was surviving with the medicine. But I _told_ him. And because he didn’t feel the same way I did, and he told me that, right to my face, the medicine stopped working. I died.”

“What do you mean?” Regulus whispered.

Walburga looked at him coldly. “Never tell them.”

_You know what will happen._

 


End file.
